


Home is where the soul is (Frisk)

by Congar



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Up to the reader how sexual the ending actually is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 16:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20028979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Congar/pseuds/Congar
Summary: This is the same story asHome is where the soul is (Aofil)but with the human replaced by Frisk so that 700 000 words of backstory isn't needed to fully enjoy it.This spider story isinspired by a recent piece from Haaru.A letter from a spider mother to her spider daughter invites both the spiderling and humanling over to the Spider Tavern for some motherly cider and donuts.





	Home is where the soul is (Frisk)

The rain dribbling on the spider web umbrella sized for two but covering only one tap at the plastic as they roll off from the wooden sign welcoming souls angled up just as warmly as souls angled down. The typeface the letters are carved in are discerningly more modern than what both the sign and building it’s attached to would suggest. There are also fewer spiders about than Frisk would’ve imagined. 

Especially his own, standing with her many arms folded a few meters away, tapping her foot on the wet ground and splashing impatient waves onto the metal rod holding up the bus table that’s barely readable in this weather. She doesn’t care at what time they’re scheduled to arrive, what she only cares for is that one should be here NOW!

“You’re gonna get a cold,” Frisk hums despite knowing that it won’t happen with Muffet. With the way the drops vaporize instantly into steam as they hit her head and exposed forearms peeking out of the frilly ends of her red dress’ fabric it’s more likely that she already has a fever of her own making. A cold from just a few drops of water keeping her from bursting into flames? Not in million years.

The growling chitter heaved out of Muffet blend in with the rainy percussion around her. The purple and folded arms bounce up in childish defiance to breathe in, and shoot down with the same defiance albeit with a bit more awareness to it that has the huff slightly angled away from an all out raspberry a lá Muffin and more towards a respectful and adult denial. 

The angle wouldn’t even be visible with a protractor though.

It’s been a week since Frisk was alerted by a messenger spider that sailed in through the opened kitchen window and landed its silk on his lips. After instinctively blowing through his lips shut closed and turned white from the strain and getting the taste of silk having sailed through a lot of city air away, he was again assailed by another, larger spider as he curiously inspected the spider-web ridden envelope the messenger spider brought with it. The second spider wasn’t Muffin though, as Frisk through habit called for to get down. To his surprise it was the five narrowed eyes of his pet spider rather than his spider pet that looked down at him from her strode position over him. Not as surprising as she’d liked as Frisk still held the envelope in his hand despite her tackle. After a long and impromptu kiss that brought the color back to Frisk’s lips so fast it spread out to his cheeks Muffet finally managed to snatch her prize.

Which she ripped into pieces faster than Sans’ proposed tab.

The sender had prepared for that though, and the messenger spider instead repelled down on Frisk’s nose as Muffet was busy sighing with relief. A smaller letter it held up just in front of his eyes so that he could read the small font, albeit with great effort. Frisk managed halfway through before Muffin’s tongue made itself accompany with the foreign taste of the spider. His reaction was that not of foreign bitterness however, but of familiar sweetness. On feet lighter than clouds he bounced over to Muffet, who did her best to pretend not to notice it.

She folded her arms just as sourly in the kitchen as she does right now in the rain, contrasting starkly with the sweet aroma coming from the tavern the two have arrived at far into the Waterfall. Frisk’s sure she can smell it too through the rain, even with the petrichor permeating from the nearby garden. “You know that it was inevitable that I’d be here,” Frisk tries again to convince. He’s exhausted all of his tricks at this point. Asked Muffet about it. Pried while massaging her shoulders and moving to the next when she was about to quiet up. And finally complementing her and showering her with affection more than the rain is at the moment as she begrudgingly brought out her old red dress as requested by the letter. “Like I said before, we’ll just be here for a brief moment before leaving. I promise you.”

Like a pair of anchors, the raven-black twin-tails fall down through water as Muffet’s neck loosens forward with an exasperated sigh. She turns around forlorn, “It’s not that. You can promise all you want, Frisk. It’s just that-” but is interrupted by the loud creek of an old wooden door swinging open.

The air around Frisk sucks behind him while four dry and rough-skinned arms envelope around his torso. The umbrella disappears in his startled tug, and is caught just before hitting the ground.

That he’s used to though.

“My spiderling!”

Two of the same dry and rough-skinned arms run through his hair.

That he’s used to as well.

“And my humanling that my spiderling’s brought to me!”

The soft and moldable flesh molding itself around his neck, chafing his skin, and pushing against the entire height of his shoulder blades though…

“How long I’ve waited to finally meet you!”

That he’s not used to in the slightest.

Joyous, albeit muffled, chitter surrounds Frisk with a welcoming aura that reminds him of his own spider, but more...exposed? Could also be that his mind’s busy making sense of the alien feeling holding his neck in place with swaying weight that follows the motion of the spider behind him rocking from side-to-side happy as can be with a slight delay to the weights. 

“To think that my little spiderling caught such a wonderful human in her web!”

Caught is the right word to be used here. The fleshy imprisonment felt by Frisk bobs against his cheeks like patting scouring pads before coming to a rest against his warming ears. The homey light from inside the tavern turns a dark-purple from both sides as well as above as the hugging spider behind him leans forward. Frisk is powerless against his eyes opening up like the heavens above and almost dropping out of his skull as the pressure against his temples becomes as dense as the low pressure before a thunderstorm. 

“Do come in, my dear humanling. You too, Muffet. Don’t let that dress I made for you get soaked. Fuhuhuhu~” the muffled voice chuckles, sending heated swells against Frisk’s head. Each pudgy ebb brings in the sound of the treble of the percussive rain only to be replaced by the bassy reverberation of the playful chuckle occurring just behind Frisk.

His head is released to stand on its own again, popping out with a slightly wet squelch, and leaving Frisk as cold as he was warm just a minute ago. The chuckle fades behind him underneath the sound of his beating heart adding a rhythmical floor tom to the hi-hat percussion from the rain.

“W-w-was that...?”dribbles out of Frisk’s mouth like the drops hitting his head again.

The fangs poking out of Muffet’s dragged-back upper lip curl underneath her lower one, poking into her chin hard enough to drain the color. “Yes.” Her head again lolls down in defeat, and her twin-tails throw water like an over-excited painter tossing his brushes around. “She’s my mother.”

“I...see.”

That’s a lie.

He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

But for some strange reason he feels like he’s experienced it to the fullest.

“Any allergies I have to worry about?” comes motherly from inside the bakery behind the counter reminiscent of Muffet’s own café. In fact, the entire décor is quite similar, albeit a bit more...aged, for lack of a better word. A tavern is the best way to describe it instead of a café. Large pillars of timber that’s older than some countries support a roof with similarly old planks. From the middle of the long row of trusses busy with worker spiders hangs a cast iron chandelier that looks to weigh as much as a car.

Frisk’s sense of weight is a bit shifted at the moment though so maybe more a motorcycle rather than a car, to be honest. “Sorry?” he asks as he steps inside the hearth-warmed tavern. His mind wasn’t with him just now. The gentle smell of burning wood mixes pleasantly with the sweet aroma dancing out the kitchen. He offers to take Muffet’s rain jacket, but she instead nods for Frisk to head to the serving window where steam is slowly escaping from, snaking up towards the hole at the top of the roof covered by a slanted chimney.

“She’s spent her entire adult life with the cheers of her customers ringing in her ears,” Muffet informs with some slight nostalgia in her voice as she hangs up her rain jacket on one of the many legs of the spider-hanger mounted on the wall just beside the lit fireplace. The thick drops rolling of and hitting the heated metal plate around whisper for Frisk.

“Psst, psst, psst,” they hiss with each group of drops for him to take a hint about the nostalgic tone in his soul mate’s words.

“Did they cheer for you too, Muffet?” Frisk pries gently with a friendly motion of his hand across the tavern.

“They...did,” she admits while brushing a wet bundle of hair away from her top-right eye. Her fangs again form dimples on her chin as she smiles towards the crowd that her memory summons before her. These dimples however are the ones Frisk fell in love with, and what he bets with absolute confidence that the cheering crowd fell in love with too. The cutest of dimples, filled with nothing but joy. “Mom and I used to dance so much together.”

What Frisk would do to see that themselves.

“Go and see what she was asking you about,” Muffet suggests while stroking her human’s cheek with the back of her hand. Those yellow cheeks sure can hold a lot of heat, and she’s gonna steal some of that for her wet and chilled hand. “I’ll find us a seat.” Maybe it’ll be different from before? She should at least humor the thought. Do it for her human.

Frisk pushes his own hand against his spider’s, letting her siphon as much heat as she want from his cheek. “You do that.” His cheek feels even colder when she removes her hand, but Frisk’s sure it’ll heat up in a moment again. He approaches the serving window with his head jutted forward to scout ahead. “Mrs...” 

Wait…

He doesn’t even know her name. Wasn’t it written down on the letter? Frisk jumps up on one of the chairs present before the window and leans his elbow and side onto the sill as he thinks for a second.

A second is all he gets as the steam from inside the bakery disperses violently to reveal its inhabitant baker. “Yes, human?”

“GOD DAMN!”

FRISK WASN’T EVEN CLOSE TO THE FULLEST!

An arm emerges from the steam to grab the startled human and save him from falling. “Careful there, cutie. Ahuhu~” is said somewhere above where Frisk’s eyes are looking. Somewhere above where he can’t stop looking. “Oh, I do apologize.” Another hand sweeps across the mound-versed landscape framed before the stunned human. “Looks I spilled some glazing. As I was asking, you don’t have any allergies, do you?”

“Alle-allergies?”

“Gluten, nuts, milk?”

Milk…

The word resonates inside Frisk’s head like a tuning fork put directly on his skull. “N-no, m-ma’am,” spills out from his shaking tongue because of that, and as Frisk shakes his head to emphasize, his eyes stay perfectly still, taut like the exposed-

“Ma’am? Oh no, my little humanling. I’m not your ma’am. I’m your mom. Call me that from now on.”

S-s-s-s-ure… “Y-yes, m-ma’am.”

“Ahuhuhu~ You’ll get it right next time, human.” 

There’s still a bit of glaze left between...between...

“Mom!” comes an almost disciplinary yell from across the tavern. Muffet’s mother peeks over Frisk’s angled-down head. “The spider donuts?” Muffet reminds while pointing with three hands towards the kitchen.

From landscape to portrait…

“Thank you, spiderling!” Muffet receives after a slight yelp from her mother after she turns to her side. “You go join my little spider, human,” she asks friendly of the human who’s eyes hasn’t blinked for a minute straight. “I’ll be out in a second with warm spider donuts and ice-chilled spider cider for the both of you.”

As the last of the flowing fabric escapes Frisk’s field of vision he finds himself blinking. 

And blinking.

Ow. Damn. It stings!

The steam might’ve helped moisten while he was staring, but it’s only now that he realizes how hot it’s been. His eyes have turned as red as his soul by the time he half-blinded navigate over to the booth where Muffet is sitting. Even through his hazy vision he can still see the sharp contours of his spider’s tightened frown. “You’re sweating.”

He is?

Frisk brushes his forehead with his hand.

Yeah, he is.

“From the steam?” Muffet offers with generosity she shouldn’t really harbor, to be honest. It’s not like for a spider to offer her prey flying itself into her web a way out, stopping just short of a bow as it takes it.

Frisk takes the way out as if his life depended on it. “Yes, from the steam.”

Because it kinda does with the look Muffet is sending over the weathered table that’s seen its fair share of spilled drinks and crumbs. That look diverges away towards the stage behind her human as she catches the glimpses of the deformed floor that she would dance on with her mom and the many patrons. Things must’ve calmed down a lot since the Barrier broke judging by how she can still perfectly put each hoof, paw, and tentacle of the regular patrons that would take her mother’s hands and dance away the night. There’s not been a lot of dancing since then, it seems.

There’s a slight somber caveat to the happy feet and hands swaying around in her memory. The customers might’ve been regular patrons, but that was the stretch of their relationship with Muffet and her mother. Her mom and her never had someone stay afterwards. As soon as the last order was eaten and drunk the patrons were off. They’d be back, but they were more away than they were there. To them the Spider Tavern was a place to visit, not one to stay at.

And Muffet opened her own Spider Cafe with the same intentions. With the same patrons visiting, and never staying. All on her own though she felt alone. She didn’t have her mother to help clean the tables, only Muffin, but he was more likely to make the mess worse than cleaning it up.

With Frisk now she has someone to come home to. Someone that stays with her. Someone that just doesn’t say that he love her after he’s three spider ciders in and her tavern maid dress has slid down to expose her shoulders due to the steam and sweat from her long day of baking and dancing like the patrons always did her mother. At least Muffet only wears those novelty aprons behind the counter, and not in front of it too. 

Good thing she doesn’t wear it today though, otherwise…

“My childlings!”

No…

Like thunder the saloon doors leading into the bakery slam open by the extended rear of the tavern maiden spinning out with a large tray balancing a small mountain freshly home-baked spider donuts glistening with oil and glaze held proudly in one upwards-facing palm, and in another balancing four frosty glasses of freshly-pressed spider cider sloshing with each sultry swing of the wide hips failed to be held in place by the four loose wrists pressed against them.

No.

Why?

WHY WOULD SHE CHANGE INTO THAT AGAIN?

“Ahuhu~”

No!

As if hammering down a prudent nail, a glass of spider juice is placed down before Frisk. “Some spider cider for you, cutie!” A teasing wink is sent towards his sweat drops while the drops of jumping spider cider lands and runs down the cool exterior of the glass just as quickly as the sweat goes down his face. “Family recipe.” The pool of spilled cider forming around the bottom rim of the glass isn’t nearly as deep as the sweat inside the sweater that was once dry before Frisk entered into the establishment. “Don’t be shy...” teases another wink just as playfully. “You can ask mommy for whatever your heart desires...”

NO!

Not only did she slip into her old tavern dress that she only wore when she’d promote her happy hour, she’s also let her hair down the same way she would when she needed an upgrade to her oven.

Frisk is Muffet’s human! “Stop!” And no one shall ever take him away from her! “Get out!” Not even her own mother!

“Get out of my what, spiderling?”

The sharp gasp thrown into the spider cider by the human goes unnoticed, as does the following coughs as he tries to regain his breathing.

“Get out of this mood of yours, mom!” Muffet demands with her many eyes narrowed hard against her mother straightening her back. The two hold eyes while Frisk slowly brings the lip of the frosted mug to his own lower lip and sip carefully.

Maybe he should fuse with the upholstery for a while. Or at least try to. With the way both spiders are looking at him to let him know he’ll be involved in this conversation sooner rather than later, maybe it’s better if Frisk just drinks his cider and stays quiet unless spoken to.

“I’m just showing how the Spider Tavern was back in the day before the Barrier broke, spiderling. I wrote that in the letters I sent, didn’t I?”

“Yes, ma...mom.”

Cold spider cider cascades down the already drenched striped sweater as the human’s mouth is closed shut by a quick spurt of web over his mouth. 

“Not...one...more...word,” Muffet warns with her fangs dragging long and white stripes across her chin. She then shoots both her eyes and fangs back towards her mother, who’s now folded her arms in the same spidery defiance as Muffet did at the bus stop outside. “And none from you either, mom.”

The flowing hair down the shoulders caress the exposed flesh like the gentle touch of a feather duster as the disappointed mother shakes her head at her spiderling. “Muffet, Muffet,” she says through a deep sigh that produces a meep from the human that comes out as a whistle from the side of his mouth where Muffet’s spider web just missed to close his mouth fully. “When did this hostility against your own mother blossom within you?”

“I’ve settled down, mom!” Muffet has to remind despite it being blatantly obvious! She throws all of her six arms towards her human trying to smile back underneath her sticky web holding his lips stuck. “I’ve found a soul mate that I love! That I…” She scoffs away a tear forming in her eye. “That I want to be mine. Mine alone. And I...I don’t think you can understand that, mom.”

The elder fangs sink down in realization, as does the flickering eyes blinking seductively just a moment ago, but now look down in thought. “My spiderling...” They water as well. Water with the nostalgia draining away with the tears, dripping away on the table and joining the family recipe, and diluting it. “My spiderling has grown up more than I have.”

The harshness inside Muffet’s eyes fade as she sees her mother’s sob permeate throughout her like the earthquake rocking her world that it is. “No,” she says while sighing out her anger. She didn’t mean to. No, not like this. “No, mom. It’s just that… I think… I think I’ve grown up differently. I didn’t grow up to be like you, and...” Her own sob permeates just as rough throughout her as it did her mother. “And I don’t know if I should apologize to you for that.”

“Spiderling...” The word is choked, but by the motherly pride seeing her little spiderling grow up, it can still be said. Said with such love only a mother could feel towards her own. Her own little spiderling. “Is that why you’ve been distant?”

Muffet nods. The same nod she did when she was little. The same nod that she had when she promised her mom she’d grow up just like her.

“Muffet...”

She stands up with her arms extended for a daughterly embrace. It’s been long since she’s done that, and this time there isn’t a single somber glimmer in her quivering eyes. “I love you, mom.”

And so does her mother. With all of her soul. Mother and daughter join together for a hug. A long and silent hug between just the two.

As Muffet leans in closer into her mother’s embrace though, the tender moment is shattered by the expulsion of blood shot out from the human that the spiders had both forgotten was there. The lively blood taints the table, family recipe, and the fabric where Muffet just sat. Frisk looks up over his hand holding his nose tightly to ten eyes hardening on him. The ten eyes then meet each other again, and the two spiders’ giggles come together into a melody the tavern hasn’t heard for years. The memories behind them applaud before disappearing into the past again. The last happy hour has ended.

Time to get the customers out before closing time.

“You still remember how we treat rude customers, spiderling? Ahuhuhu~”

“Of course I do,” Muffet replies with a wink to her and her mother's human. “I’ve been treating them just the way you did, mom. Fuhuhuhu~”


End file.
